“I’m sorry for your loss.” His eyes shift to Henry. He isn’t so adept at hiding the anger in them as his brother. “You son of a bitch.” “Now, now....” “You have the nerve to bring your whore to his funeral?” All amusement slips from Henry’s face. “Call her that again, and you’ll be joining Dad in that box,” he warns, ice in his tone. But Scott isn’t so easily deterred. “You lied right to his face about fucking her.” “I told him about Abbi before he died. My conscience is clean. How’s yours?”
